A Mother's Fierce Devotion
by Miss Summerson
Summary: A prologue following young John Thornton after receiving the news that his father has committed suicide.
1. Chapter 1

"So, what does your father do?"

Alfred Wright, the newest pupil at Glenwood Academy, was endeavoring to amuse himself and annoy most everyone else by firing questions at the other boys during their afternoon break in the library. John Thornton was standing at the window, hoping he would go unnoticed and the conversation would continue by without pulling him in. He kept gazing out the window, over the open moor, until a throat cleared and a disgruntled voice snapped, "I'm speaking to you, John Thornton."

John turned slowly to the group, feeling, just as much as seeing the eyes of the other boys on him. Leonard Salisbury, a lad with a tangle of brown curls, sitting with his legs draped unceremoniously over the side of an armchair, laughed.

"John's father is so rich, he doesn't have to do anything! Haven't you heard of the Thorntons, Alfred?"

"I have not, sorry to say. So, John, your father does nothing? Hangs about all day I suppose."

John's jaw tightened, but his face remained calm.

"My father is in speculating."

"Is he now? Well, that is a fine past time, isn't it? Playing with his fortune like it's a game. Has he lost anything yet?" Alfred strolled up to John, smirking.

"No. My father is a wise man; he knows what he's doing."

Alfred's smile faded into a scowl. "No one knows what they are doing in speculating, at least, no one can assure a good outcome. My uncle lost every last shilling that way."

"Well, that's how my father made his fortune." Curtis Tallby, a ghost of a boy; pale, thin, with white blond hair, piped up. "Speculating can be very profitable."

"Or devastating."

"Oh, leave off it, Alfred." Leonard swung his legs out of the chair and got to his feet. "I think I hear them calling us for class."

The boys filed out of the room, all except for John and Curtis. John turned back to the window and let out a heavy sigh.

"No letter yet?" Curtis came along side and looked up at him.

"No letter." John replied with a shake of his head. There had been no word from home in a month now.

"Your father is busy, maybe he hasn't had time, or he forgot."

"He wouldn't forget. He said he would send news, good or bad. He promised to tell me how things turned out." John was very interested in his father's business, and the elder Thornton enjoyed seeing his son's enthusiasm over the matters that usually never entered most boys' heads. Something must have happened to cause this long a delay, but what?

"It could have got lost in the post."

"Could it?" John said absentmindedly, no longer listening to his friend. The grey of the sky foretold snow and the wind howled and clamored against the windowpane.

"Come on, we should get to class." John brushed past Curtis, heading out into the hall.

"I thought I'd find you here!"

It was the next morning, and John was in the library at a heavy oak table. He looked up from his thick volume to see Curtis in the doorway.

"You weren't at breakfast."

"I wasn't hungry." John closed the book and pushed it aside. Curtis took a seat across from him.

"You didn't miss much, it wasn't worth eating."

John raised his eyebrows and gave his friend a sideways smile. "If you don't eat anything, one day you'll just disappear in the fog on the moor."

"And no one would miss me."

John opened his mouth to reply, but Curtis continued. "You're lucky to have such a fine mother and father. And speaking of your parents, missing breakfast also meant missing the mail, and there was something for you this time." He pulled an envelope from his vest pocket. "It looks like you weren't forgotten after all."

In his greed for news, John leaned over the table and snatched the letter from Curtis's hand. He glanced at the front, reaffirming the intended recipient, and began tearing open the letter. Half way through he stopped, and turned the envelope over.

"Well, go ahead! Open it!" Curtis urged, but John stood still, looking over the writing with furrowed brows. It was not his father's sweeping, hurried strokes of a pen, but his mother's script, small and precise. A slight quaver in the lines of the writing induced a dread to creep over him, slowing his movements as he finished opening the letter and drew out the single sheet of paper it contained.

"My Dearest John," he read aloud; any other presence in the room forgotten.

"You are required at home immediately. A carriage will come for you the morning of the 5th of November. Signed, your devoted mother."

John sank into his chair, face drawn in consternation.

"That is all it says?"

At Curtis's question, John jerked his head up, meeting the other boy's gaze. He nodded his head, pushed the letter into his jacket pocket and got his feet. There was a knock at the door and one of the schoolmasters stepped in the room.

"Thornton, you are excused from classes today to ready your things."

How did the school know already? "What do you know of this?" John said, striding forward.

"There was only a brief notice from your mother of your needed leave taking from studies here. I do hope your family is in good health."

"So do I," John murmured, turning to the window as the teacher exited.

John's belongings were packed into his trunk before the clock in the hall struck nine. He could have gone down to class, but his knew his mind would be far from the lessons. The fifth of November was tomorrow. In a day, he would be on his way home, but even a day seemed like too long a wait. His mind whirled with unanswered questions. He had received his long awaited letter, but what did its contents reveal? Was it something of small importance, too trifling to warrant explanation? Or just the opposite; a matter of such weight, it had to be told to him in person?

He pulled on his overcoat and boots and headed for the front hall of the school. A walk would do him good. He had to do something other than pace in his room like a caged tiger.

A snowstorm had blown over during the night, leaving drifts over the fields. The sky was grey and heavy, almost smothering if the air had not been so brisk and chill. John turned up his collar against the wind as he tramped over the snow-blanketed meadows.

When he reached the top of a hill, he stood for a moment looking over the land. There was a village to the east, miniaturized by the distance; a cluster of grey cottages puffing smoke from tiny stone chimneys.

Why had the letter been from his mother? It had always been his father who wrote while John was off at school. And her message, so short and vague; what was its meaning?

Something must have gone wrong with the speculation, but then why didn't his father write himself? Had he been taken ill? That might explain why John was needed home, but it still didn't satisfy the anxiety that gnawed in his stomach.

His restless mind jumped to the worse. Something had befallen his father; a sickness, a carriage accident, a... He shook his head; he shouldn't burden his thoughts with this until he knew the truth. However, what was the truth? Why had the letter not said?

He continued walking. The school disappeared behind the hill, and the clouds sank lower until he was surrounded by a heavy mist. He paid no mind to where he was going, but he kept at a steady pace, head lowered against the wind.

How much time passed, John could not tell, but the sky began to darken, and he knew he aught to go back. The weight on his mind was no less, the questions still unanswered, but only tomorrow could bring resolution to all his conjectures.

"Why, master John! We were about to send someone after you!" The flurried housekeeper pounced on John as he walked through the door, stamping the snow from his boots.

"Just look at you, out in that horrid weather with hardly a thing to keep you warm." She reached up and ruffled his hair, dislodging the frozen droplets of water that clung to his dark locks. "You could catch your death of cold!"

John put a hand up at she began to brush at his coat. "There's no need, Mrs. Archer, I'm quite well. I'll just go up to my room-"

"No, no, no! You get yourself into the kitchen. There's blazing fire, and I'm going to get you warmed up and fed before you step one foot on those stairs."

John couldn't help but smile as he was bustled into the kitchen. "Yes, Mrs. Archer."

John waited in the entryway with his trunk all morning, but because of trouble with one of the coach's wheels, its coming was delayed until nearly noon. Mrs. Archer tucked a napkin wrapped package into his coat pocket as she gave him a brief hug farewell, wishing him and his family the best. Curtis was there to see him off as well.

"I hope you have safe travel home."

John nodded in reply.

"Will you be coming back to school soon?"

"I don't know," John shrugged, "I certainly hope I can."

"Yes, well then, so long old chap, until we meet again."

"So long, Curtis."


	2. Chapter 2

Snow fell in a steady dusting over the rolling hills as the carriage bumped along the narrow road from the school. John shifted on the leather seat and turned his eyes from the dreary scenery out the window. He leaned his head back and let out a heavy sigh; his breath puffing out like smoke in the icy air.

The ride from school to Milton was a dull one, and was hastened no more by John's anxiety to reach home. When at last the city came into view, he straightened up, eager to catch the first glance of the Thornton house.

The stately manor of the Thornton family stood long the river on the far edge of Milton. Branches of towering oaks, reaching down like blackened skeleton arms, framed the view to house. The familiar, weathered stone of the home stood cold and grim against the grey sky, and windows stared out over the lawn; dark and lifeless.

As the coach made its way up the drive, a heavy-laden wagon passed them, piled with high with trunks and grand furnishings. John had to take a second look. What was happening with those things? Those were items from his home, treasured by his family for generations.

Workmen filed down the grand front steps, loading another wagon with crates. When the coach pulled up to the house, John didn't wait for the driver to come to a complete stop before leaping out of the carriage. He sprinted up the steps, then had to stand aside as men carrying a large davenport blocked the doorway. They took no notice John, and when one of them lost their grip on their end of the heavy piece of furniture, the other muttered a curse.

After spending a moment grumbling over their misfortunate task, one of them said something that caught John's attention.

"What's happening here anyway? The lady of the house redoing everything?" the younger of the pair asked, a short, thickset fellow with shaggy, straw colored hair.

"You daft? Haven't you heard what happened here?" The older man, who had a short grey beard, replied.

"Naw, I was down to London these past few weeks."

"Well, Mrs. Thornton here has to get rid of everything, sell the house too. Mr. Thornton got himself in a mess with some ruddy speculating deal, lost everything and made a bloomin' pile of debt. The old man just couldn't take it. Did himself in."

"What? Drowned himself in river, did he?"

"No, a bullet to the head."

With those last words, John felt as if he were hit with a ton a bricks. He couldn't catch his breath for a moment, and then he stepped forward, snapping at the men.

"Out of my way!" His adolescent voice cracked with emotion on the last word.

The men looked up, startled.

"Here now, who do you think you..." The older workman's eyes widened, "Hold on, you must be-"

"Mr. Thornton's son, yes." John took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure, "I've just returned home from school and I need to see my mother. So if you would be so kind-"

"Yes! Yes! Our deepest apologies to you." The man nodded his head in John's direction, then turned to his fellow worker. "You heard the young man, George, move it!"

With a grunt, George lifted up his end of the davenport and moved so John could get through.

"John, is that you?"

A short, slender woman dressed all in black appeared at the end of the hall. John quickened his stride to greet her, then placed his hands on her shoulders and gently kissed her forehead.

"Mother." He murmured, no longer able to hold back the tremor in his voice.

"Oh, John." She held her son tight; her head nestled under his chin. "I wanted to tell you myself, in person, but I heard the workman talking outside just now. How vulgar of them to speak like that."

"It can't possibly be true. Tell me it isn't, Mother."

"'Tis true, John. Your father is dead."

John pulled away from her and went into an open door to his left; what used to be his father's office.

The huge oak desk at the far end of the room would have dwarfed most men who sat behind it, but Mr. Thornton had been tall, with broad shoulders and a muscular build. It was obvious that John took after his father in looks, but his quiet, serious nature came from his mother. He was thankful when she followed behind him, but didn't break the silence he so needed to sort out his thoughts and what he had just learned.

Most of the things had been taken out of this room already; bookshelves were bare and the place by the fire for Mr. Thornton's large leather armchair was vacant. The Turkish rug that had covered the floor was rolled up and leaned in a corner; waiting to be taken out. John let his eyes travel to a stain on the floor by the desk, normally hidden by the rug. As a small boy, he had knocked his father's inkwell over, and his father had come in to find his son attempting to mop up the spilled ink with his handkerchief. John was so nervous about how his father would respond, but Mr. Thornton simply pulled out his own pocket-handkerchief and finished cleaning it up with his son. When all the ink was gone, there remained a black stain on the wood floor. With a reassuring smile at his concerned son, Mr. Thornton pulled up the rug to cover the spot, and the accident was never mentioned again.

"How did Father lose everything, even the house?" John asked quietly, turning to face his mother. "He had all his investments tied up in the speculation, but he didn't borrow from anyone."

"It wasn't just the first speculation that fell through. He was convinced that nothing could go wrong with that one, and he would get double what he put in. Another deal came along, bigger, and better, sure to make a fortune." Mrs. Thornton sadly shook her head. "However, with all his money tied up in the first one, he had to borrow from his friend Mr. Chambers to get in to the other speculation."

"How much?"

"I don't know. He wouldn't tell me. He would only say not to worry; everything was certain to come out well."

"But it didn't."

His mother shook her head. "You should have seen his face when he heard the news. That in its self practically killed him. The life went out of his eyes that day, and all he would do is pace in his study, repeating over and over to himself, 'I'm ruined, I'm ruined'"

"Was he in his study when he…" John couldn't finish, but Mrs. Thornton nodded, understanding her son's question.

"Yes."

"When did all this happen?"

"Your father heard the news last week, and then…well, it must have been four days ago now."

John walked over to the fireplace, let his forehead rest against the high mantle, and stared into the cold ashes.

"Why?" He slammed his fist against the mantle piece. "Why did he do this to us?"

As his shoulders began to shake, his mother came along side him and put her arm around his back.

"Asking why does nothing. What your father chose to do is done. While we must contend with the consequences, we must not let our minds deliberate on the past. You are strong, my dear son, and together we shall overcome this."

Mrs. Thornton asked if her son wanted something to eat, as it was getting late into the evening. She was keeping on a few servants until packing was completed. However, John wasn't hungry; the very thought of food made his stomach threaten to return the small meal he had eaten on the carriage ride from Mrs. Archer.

Instead, he climbed the grand staircase and followed the hall down to his sister's nursery. Her nurse was just exiting the room, flustered and red in the face. As she closed the door, a wail resounded, causing the poor woman to cover her face in her hands and sag against the wall.

"Why, Master John, you're home!" she started as she noticed John coming towards her.

"May I see Fanny?"

"Why, of course. But, my lands, is she in an awful fit of temper tonight. I can hardly do a thing with the wee lass!"

"I'll see if I am any help." A fleeting shadow of a smile passed over John's lips. "You go and have a cup of tea."

"Thank you, Master John," the woman sighed, and practically skipped down the hall.

The wails had risen in volume as time passed, so John braced himself as he opened the door.

In the middle of the floor sat Fanny, surrounded by numerous toys and dolls but nothing that captured her attention at this moment. Her eyes were squeezed shut, tears streamed down her scarlet cheeks, and her mouth was closed only for a moment as she took a breath in preparation for another scream.

Then the door closed. At the noise, Fanny paused her performance and peeped open her eyes to see who had succumbed to her.

"Joh! Joh!" she squealed, hysterics instantly forgotten as she scrambled to her feet and ran with outstretched arms to her brother.

"And hello to you, Fanny."

John scooped up the three year old and held her close for a moment. Fanny giggled and squirmed away, leaning over and reaching out a grasping little hand for his pockets.

"What are you at, little goose?"

"Where treats?" she queried, fishing into his pockets and then dropping the crumpled letter she found with much disappointment. "Where my treats?"

"Who do you think I am, Father? Come to bring you…" John stopped. Of course, Mr. Thornton always brought home little trinkets and sweets for his daughter.

"Papa?" Her eyes lit up. "Papa bring treats!"

John shook his head, slowly letting Fanny to the ground. She was too young to understand what had happened, that her papa was never coming back. There was no sorrow in her face, no worry for what the future would bring. She was oblivious to the fact that her brother was now man of the family, and to what a heavy responsibility now rested on his shoulders.


	3. Chapter 3

The brisk air was biting, but the sun shone down on the quaint cobblestone street. It was early yet, but the streets were scattered with people as John made his way along. He had a destination among the jumble of shops; if only he could find the sign- there!

 _Arnolds and Sons, Drapers._

He crossed the street to the storefront. The display windows were filled with bolts of sturdy fabrics in practical shades of blues, greens, and grays; no others could be risked to fade in the direct light.

Before John entered the shop, he looked himself over in the reflection of the shop window. He brushed the dirt from the front of his coat, smoothed down a few unruly waves of hair, and then looked down at his boots. Before, a maid polished his boots every morning. He had tried cleaning them up a bit this morning before leaving, but now they were mud spattered and scuffed. He would have hardly considered himself presentable, but things were different now. This was the best he could do, and all he could hope was that this visit would be a fruitful one.

"What can I assist you with, my lad?" A man with salt and pepper hair, neatly parted, and a clean shopkeeper's apron tied around his waist stepped out from behind a wide counter as John entered the shop. "Are you here to pick up an order?"

"No, I'm here for a job. I was told you were looking for an assistant?"

The information had come from the Thornton's new neighbors. The cost of living had been too high to stay in Milton, so they had moved to a cottage in a small country town. It was quite the adjustment for all of them, but people of the town proved friendly and eager to help.

At the word "assistant", the man's eyes lit up and he strode up to John and gave him a hearty handshake.

"You're a godsend, lad, truly ya' are. I know the sign says Arnolds and Sons, but as soon as my boys were of age, they were off on ventures of their own, leavin' their ol' father to take care of things here. I have a few apprentices, but there's more work then all of us can do."

"Well, I'm greatly in need of work." John said with a nod.

"You've worked in a shop before?" The man went back behind the counter and John stepped further into the shop, eyes traveling over the bolts of textiles that covered the walls.

"No, sir. Until recently I was in school."

"A young man like you? You must be nigh on seventeen or so."

"Fifteen, sir."

"Well, aren't you a tall one for your age. Fifteen, you say, and you haven't had a job before?" Mr. Arnolds said, taking a closer look at him.

"No, sir."

"What's your name, lad?"

"John Thornton."

Mr. Arnolds' bristly brows rose. "Thornton? Not a relation to that wealthy Thornton up in Milton?"

"He was my father."

The older man's face softened. "My sympathies, lad, to you and your mother. I would be glad to give you a job here, if you can be fast learner. Fifteen's an odd age to be looking for work; too old to be apprenticed and too young for the hard labor jobs, though with your tall frame, that might not be a problem. I can guarantee you, however, I pay a mite better then diggin' ditches will get you. I suppose your schoolin' will be beneficial. Are you any good with figures?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well then, you can start by goin' over this order for me and make sure everything's added proper."

"Thank you sir."

"You can hang your coat in the back, and I'll get you an apron."

Mr. Arnolds took John's coat himself and disappeared into the backroom for a moment. John stepped behind the counter and looked down the open page in the ledger. It looked simple enough, simpler then the equations and mathematical theories he had been learning in school.

"You'll also have to watch the shop and help customers when I have to go out. I'll show ya' what to do in those instances." Mr. Arnold was at John's side now, talking as if he had never left. "The most important thing is for you to be polite and respectful to patrons, and to not jut in your opinion. Tis only proper to make suggestions if it is asked of ya'."

John nearly smiled. What opinion would he have on what customers bought?

Mr. Arnolds continued on, motioning for John to follow him around the shop. By the end of the day, John was tired and ready to head home. He had a clear idea of what his duties would be, and understood that there was much only time and experience could teach him. School was over, but now he must learn a whole new set of skills.

It was a good job, however, and a job that would feed his family.

"Mother?" John called, stepping into the cottage. It was composed of three rooms, two bedrooms and the other for living. There was hardly need to raise his voice; his mother was sitting by the window that overlooked the street, only a few strides from the front door. She was rocking Fanny in her arms; head bent over the sleeping child.

"Hush, John, I've only now gotten her to sleep."

John closed the door softly and stooped by the fire to warm his cold hands.

"We're low on wood. I can go out and get some-"

"Don't trouble yourself; we will be fine until morning. Tell me how your search went."

John pulled a stool near to where his mother sat and eased himself on it.

"It was successful. I'm now a draper's assistant to a Mr. Arnolds."

Mrs. Thornton shook her head and put her free hand on her son's shoulder. "My son, a tradesman now. I can hardly believe it."

"It's a decent job, Mother, with 15 shillings a week. I only wish there was more I could do."

"More? Oh my dear John, there is nothing more you can do! With your wages, we will not live in luxury, but we shall be comfortable, and then we will start saving for your future. You can make something of your self."

"We can't save any of it! We will need it." John spoke a bit too loud and his mother put a finger to her lips. Fanny stirred, but didn't wake.

"We will put three shillings away for you every week, and spend the other twelve carefully on the things we will need."

John's eyes widened. Three shillings seemed small, but he knew it would quickly add up. In three years that would amount to over 20 pounds.

"But Mother, we will need every shilling."

"No, John, I am decided. 12 shillings will purchase necessities for us, and the rest we will do without. You must only promise me one thing."

"What is that?"

"When you do have a fortune of your own, to spend it as wisely as you can, and not invest in silly speculations."

"Oh, Mother, that is a lesson I will never forget, and never do. Not a pence of my money shall ever be wasted, and when that day comes, you will have a fine house again, and-"

Fanny began to whimper, sitting up in her mother's lap. She blinked at John, then reached out her arms for him.

"I'll put her to bed, Mother."

"All right, and I will get you something to eat. Then I would like to hear more of Mr. Arnolds and his shop."

John and his mother spent late into the night talking. The fire drew dim, and when John rose to stoke it, Mrs. Thornton said it would be best to go to bed now. John slept easily that night, the first restful sleep in weeks. Hardships were not over, but there was hope for the future, and John looked forward to what the next day would bring.


	4. Chapter 4

"John," Mr. Arnolds called to the young man behind the counter, "I need ya' to get a bolt of dreadnaught down for me."

"Yes sir."

Without having to be instructed as to which bolt Mr. Arnolds was referring to, John crossed the store in a few lengthy strides and pulled down the bolt of heavy woolen cloth. He held it while the woman who requested it fingered the cloth's edges.

"It's fine quality wool, from the mills in Milton," Mr. Arnolds informed her, and she nodded in agreement.

After the woman made her decision, John laid the bolt on the counter for a length of the fabric to be cut. Mr. Arnolds said he could do this, and motioned that John could return to his task. After finishing adding up the accounts, John stepped into the backroom to see how things were coming along there.

"Tom, what are you up to?" he snapped as he found one of the apprentices lounging against some bundles of cambric and calico. "You're supposed to be readying that order, not taking a snooze."

"Sorry, John." Tom Carter jumped to attention.

"That's Mr. Thornton to you. Get along now."

"Yes, sir."

"Where's Henry?" John inquired, looking around and not seeing the other apprentice.

"He's harnessing the horses for Mr. Arnolds to go to Milton." Tom said over his shoulder, scurrying back to work. The snub-nosed boy had only been here a month, and already John could tell that Mr. Arnold regretted taking him on. Henry Lloyd, on the other hand, had worked for the draper longer then John had, and was only a few years younger. He was much more promising, and would most likely take over the shop one day. If someone had asked Mr. Arnolds about that however, he would most likely say he wished John to take the shop. John did not mind the work, but he was nearly 20 now, and life in the little town was too stifling for him. Even if he did move up and take over the shop from Mr. Arnolds, there he would be stuck. If he could get a job in one of the mills in Milton, from there he could move up, and maybe even own a mill himself one day. What different aspirations he had now, compared to what he thought life would be while he was still at Glenwood. How things had changed.

Mr. Arnolds came back into the workroom once his customer was gone and laid a hand on John's shoulder.

"I was plannin' on going to Milton today, but I don't think my back can take the ride there. I'd like you to go for me to pick up the order."

"Me, sir?"

"You've been with me plenty of times and know how things go. Take Henry along, and you should get things loaded and back before supper." Mr. Arnold placed a hand on the small of his back and straightened up with a grimace. "'course, it may be hard to keep Tom in order while you're away, but I think I can manage."

"Yes, sir," John replied, with a hint of smile.

"I don't know why I haven't sent you before; it would have saved me rather a lot of trouble."

John gave him a sideways look as he turned to finish knotting up a bundle. "Don't you always say you like to have a look over things yourself before handing over the money?"

"That I do, but I trust your judgment, lad. Just watch that Mr. Hawkins doesn't try to pass off some reject materiel on you. He thinks my patrons in this little town won't know the difference, but we know proper quality, don't we?"

"We do, sir."

"Right then. Off with you and Henry soon as you can."

As John donned his overcoat, Mr. Arnolds handed him the payment for the order. John tucked it deep in the inner pocket of his coat, and headed out back to the wagon.

Henry was ready and waiting, and quite delighted to hear that he was to accompany John.

The steady rainfall that had plagued the last week was letting up for this morning. The road was still riddled with muddy potholes, but as long as John kept the wagon near the center of the road, travel went smoothly.

Henry sat up straight, shoulders back, but still he was no match for John's height. His shaggy, nut-brown hair fell into his eyes as he looked up at the sky, squinting at the sun that now showed itself after its long absence.

"You think the rain's over finally? Maybe we needn't have brought those tarps to cover the order," he said.

John glanced up, and then shook his head. "Who knows how long it will hold. It's better to be safe."

The clop, clop, clop of the horse's hooves on the sodden ground punctuated the following silence, until Henry spoke again.

"Miss Tystad was in the shop again yesterday evening after you went home."

"Was there something wrong with her purchase?"

"Oh no, she only wanted to thank you for helping her the day before. You should have heard her rave about how you cut her materiel so precisely, and how you were so careful when you folded it up and packaged it-"

"Stop it, Henry."

"It's true! Those were her very words, I swear on my grandmother's grave they were." Henry smirked at John, who pretended not to notice.

"She comes into the shop so often," Henry continued, "that I'm surprised she didn't know you wouldn't be there."

"And why would that be of importance?" John grumbled.

"Because she comes in to see you, you dolt. Don't deny that you haven't noticed." Henry laughed.

"She does not. She comes in to waste her poor father's money, and she gawks at any boy she sees."

"She never gawks at me. It's you she fancies, John, and I have to say, I am a mite jealous. A pretty girl like her-"

"Just shut it, Henry."

"All right, I won't mention it again."

"Good."

Clop, clop…clop, clop…clop, clop…clop, clop.

"What do you think of Miss Tystad, John?"

"Henry, if you say another word, I'll have no qualms about knocking you off the wagon," John replied, flicking the reigns to speed their pace.

Henry sealed his lips after one last gleeful smile.

What did John think about Miss Tystad? He thought her annoying, careless, and silly. She could bat her eyelashes and flatter him all she wanted, but if a girl were ever to catch his attention, she certainly would not be one like that.


	5. Chapter 5

When they pulled into Milton, John guided the horse down the crowed streets to the mill yard of Mr. Hawkins. His gaze searched the wide area for the foreman, Mr. Armstrong, but he didn't see him.

Soon, a workman approached.

"You here for a pick-up?" he barked.

"Yes, for Arnolds' Drapers."

"Right then, just be a moment."

The man sauntered off into the warehouse, and John pulled the wagon closer to the loading doors. Shouts filled the air, along with a white haze that drifted from the open windows of the mill - cotton.

The workman reappeared in the doorway of the warehouse, motioning for John and Henry to come along. They followed him down a row with bundles of cloth stacked nearly to the roof. When the reached the end, the man pointed out which stack was theirs, and hurried off.

"Do you have that?" John watched as Henry struggled to pick up one of the bundles. John had easily swung one up to his shoulder to carry.

"Go on, I'm fine," Henry grunted, limping after John with the weight.

After they positioned the bundles in the wagon, Henry started walking off to get the next load, but John halted him.

"Look at this," John said, pulling back some of the canvas covering. "This materiel is run with knots and loose ends. It's rubbish!"

"Maybe it's just this one," Henry shrugged, and then watched as John checked the other one.

"Just as bad," John shook his head with a scowl. "Where is Mr. Armstrong? He ought to be informed of this."

"What should I be informed of?"

The two young men looked up to see Mr. Armstrong coming across the yard. He was a tall, imposing man with auburn hair graying at the temples, but when John jumped down from the wagon, he could stand eye to eye with him.

"There's a problem with our order, sir."

"And who is this order for?" Mr. Armstrong asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Mr. Arnolds of Arnolds' Drapers."

"What is the problem?"

"Have a look yourself, sir, and tell us if this quality is usually accepted by your workers." John crossed his arms in front of him.

Mr. Armstrong gave him one last look before mounting wagon and pulling back the coverings.

He cursed, tossed the canvas back over and stepped back down to the ground. "What imbeciles produced that? Or what foreman passed it to go to the warehouse?"

Mr. Armstrong snapped at a passing worker and asked him to retrieve someone for him.

"If this is Burn's work again, Mr. Hawkins will have no excuse not to send him on his way. He won't like finding a new production foreman; Lord knows there isn't a soul here worth promoting to the position."

After his rant, he looked to John. "You're an apprentice to Mr. Arnolds?"

"No sir, I am his assistant."

"What wages do you make?"

"15 shillings a week."

Mr. Arnolds snorted, "Well, I guess that is decent earnings in a small town. What would you say to earning a pound a week as a production foreman here? I can see working as a draper has given you good knowledge of the product, and though you would be in need some teaching about the machines and such, I do not think I would have much trouble convincing Mr. Hawkins to give you Burn's job."

John was speechless for a moment. Was he really being offered a job at the mill? It would mean removing to Milton, but with higher wages, John was sure he could find Mother and Fanny a comfortable place to stay.

A slow, understanding smile spread across Mr. Armstrong's face. "No need to decide yet. When we get rid of Burn, however, I'll be speaking to you again, if you are interested."

"Yes, I…certainly," John stuttered, wincing inwardly at his broken composure. "I would indeed."

"Good," Mr. Armstrong nodded, shaking John's hand. "Now, let's get your order straightened out and send you on your way."

"I can't believe it," Henry said with a shake of his head as the outskirts of Milton fell behind them, and ahead lay the rolling hills of the countryside. "John, going off to the city again."

"It's not decided yet," John replied, keeping his eyes ahead on the road.

"And why not? You wouldn't turn down a job like that, would you?"

"No, but there's a chance nothing will happen if Mr. Hawkins doesn't fire Mr. Burn."

"Well, if you're going to be like that, I'll just have to be excited for you." Henry leaned back and rested his elbows on the top edge of the low seat back. "Of course we'll miss you and all. Mr. Arnolds will have to take the ladder down from the attic again, since you won't be around with your monstrous height to fetch things for us. And what will Miss Tystad- John! Watch out!"

They were just entering a crossroads, and a carriage from the other road came barreling towards them, veering around the corner. John yanked back the reigns, pulling the horse to the side of the road, nearly tilting the wagon over in the ditch as the carriage swerved to miss them.

"Those ruddy fools," Henry hissed, unclenching his hands from the side of the seat. "They could have killed us!"

John muttered a curse, jumping down from the wagon to survey the damage. The soft, muddy side of the road was beginning to envelope the left wheels, front and rear, sucking them down into the mire.

"Give the horse's reigns a snap, and see if he can get us out. Otherwise…" John trailed off, shaking his head.

All the straining the horse did at his harness resulted in nothing. They were stuck. John got in behind the wagon and tried pushing as the horse pulled, but to no avail. He looked over his shoulder to see that the carriage had pulled to a stop down the road. A young man burst from the side door and jogged towards them, his face obviously distressed.

He was well dressed, but at first glance, John could see his clothes were not expensive, nor were they tailored very well. The young man was painfully thin, with a gaunt white face and pale hair emerging from under his top hat, which he clutched to his head as he approached.

"I must beg your forgiveness for my reckless carriage driver. I don't understand how he thought he could take that corner so rapidly or-" he halted mid sentence and stared a John.

John stared back, then looked down at himself; half covered in mud, and then returned his gaze to the man.

"You can't say you don't recognize me, John Thornton, or I shall be very miserable indeed," the young man said,

"Who is this bloke, John?" Henry interjected when John did not immediately respond.

"Curtis Tallby," John said slowly, uncertainly, yet the name felt familiar on his tongue.

"So you do remember! Why, I thought we would never see each other again. Imagine meeting like this!" Curtis pumped John's hand in his excitement, oblivious to the mud.

"Curtis," John repeated, a grin beginning first in his eyes, and then spreading to his lips. "What are you doing here?"

"My sister and I are coming from London to visit some relatives in Milton." Curtis explained, motioning back the carriage where another pale face peered from the window. "We don't have money for a carriage of our own, and Marie doesn't much care for train travel. We have found, however, that we will not be hiring this particular driver again."

"Well, do you dare trust him with your lives the rest of the way?" John laughed, only half in jest.

"Oh, we're almost there, aren't we? I do wish there was some way to help you, since it is partly my fault that put you in this dilemma."

"Well," John started to run a hand through his hair, then quickly withdrew it when he remembered how dirty it was. "Maybe you could hold the reigns while Henry and I push. If that doesn't do it, that driver of yours will have to lend a hand as well."

"All right," Curtis brightened at the chance to give assistance.

He and Henry switched places, and John stepped deeper into the mud so that Henry could take the right side.

"On the count of three, you bring the reigns down hard on the horse's back, and Henry and I will push," John said, taking his position against the wagon.

"One, two, three!"

Teeth clenched and boots digging into the ground, Henry and John shoved with all their strength. They could hear Curtis urging the horse on, and finally, with slurp of the mud releasing it's hold on the wheels, the wagon lurched forward.

Henry cheered, tossing his cap in the air, and Curtis jumped down to join them.

"Thank you for your help," John said, turning to Curtis.

"Anytime, old friend. I apologize that our meeting caused this, but in a way, I'm rather glad. After you left…when you left Glenwood, that is, it wasn't until nearly a week later that we boys found out what happened. I wrote you a letter, but it came back because you must have left Milton."

"Yes, my mother and I live over in a little town east of Milton now."

"But maybe not for much longer," Henry butted in.

"What's this?" Curtis's brows rose.

"Nothing, yet," John glared. "I work as a draper's assistant now, and I might have chance at a position in a mill in Milton."

"Listen to all that false modestly," Henry laughed, "You should have seen him beam when Mr. Armstrong of Hawkins' mill asked if he would be willing to take on the job of production foreman. And that's no small offer."

"That's wonderful, John."

They talked for a bit longer, until Curtis thought his sister might be growing anxious to continue. They promised to keep in touch; reluctant to part again after such a length of time had passed.

"Mr. Arnolds may worry we toppled into the ditch and ruined the whole order," Henry said, once they were on their way again. "Won't we have some news to tell him though?"

"Yes," John replied absentmindedly. His thoughts were far away, pondering over memories, painful and glad, of the hope filled present, and the future ahead. What lay in store for him? Where would this new position lead him? Slowly, but surely he was making something of himself, rebuilding what his father had razed to the ground. How pleased his mother would be to hear of this opportunity. She was his constant encourager, urging him on when he saw no prospects, and giving him strength when he had none. All that he had endured was surely nothing compared to what she had withstood, and yet she was strong; ever devoted to the life she knew her son could have one day. It was a zealous, fierce devotion, and he loved her deeply for it.

 **Note from the author: This is all I have written currently, and all I was planning to write, but if I get more requests to continue, I will see what I can do. Thank you all for the encouraging feedback.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Note: Alright! The story continues. :) More of Fanny in this chapter too.**

Just as the town came into view after the last bend in the road, John reined the horses in with a sharp tug. After regaining his balance, Henry gave him a startled look.

"What is the matter? Besides the fact that you've scarcely spoken a word since we parted ways with your friend."

"Do not say anything about my offer to Mr. Arnolds." John turned to Henry with utmost seriousness. He had been too busy thinking to make idle chatter earlier, but now he must speak before they returned to the shop. He knew how excited Henry was to share the news, the same excitement boiled beneath his stern exterior, but nothing could be said of the job in Milton yet.

"What? Why on earth not?"

"Because there isn't an offer, not a determined one. It's all based on 'ifs', and I can't depend on it until it is certain." John heaved a sigh, "More likely then not, I will never hear another word about it again."

"But Mr. Armstrong said-"

"He said if. I'll not put my hopes on ifs and speculations. Promise me Henry, not a word."

"All right," Henry said reluctantly.

They continued their way in silence, with John going back to his thoughts, and Henry slumping disappointedly down in his seat. John had to admit he was a little sorry for bringing him down like that, but it couldn't be helped.

"Blimey, what's happened to the wagon?" Mr. Arnolds exclaimed as the young men pulled up behind the shop.

"The road was a bit muddy, that's all" John said, swinging down from his seat.

"A bit muddy? It tried to suck us into its miry depths after John deftly avoided a collision with a carriage." Henry bounded over to join them.

John rolled his eyes, and Mr. Arnolds gave him a sympathizing grin. "Well, as long as you're back safe and sound, with the order, I presume?"

"Yes sir." John strode over to the back of the wagon to begin unloading.

"Once you lads have that inside, run along home. You've done a good day's work, and I'm sure you're hankerin' for supper."

Once Mr. Arnolds was back in the shop, Henry pulled one of the bundles down.

"Why is fabric so heavy?" he said with a groan.

"Why do you talk so much?" John answered, easily hoisting another bundle from the wagon.

"Well, if I couldn't tell him about the-"

John shot him a glare.

"-other thing, I had to say something about the trip." Henry set the bundle down and rubbed his palms together. There was a hurt look on his face as he continued. "You can trust me, John. I swear on my grandmother's grave I won't spill a word of it until it's sure."

John softened, walking past him to put the bundle inside. "I'm sorry, Henry, I do trust you. We will both have to be careful, that's all."

Henry brightened, and the two young men hurried to finish unloading the wagon. Soon they were parting ways outside the shop, John to his home, and Henry to his. The smells of many suppers cooking wafted along the street, and John's empty stomach gave a growl of protest. He considered a moment not telling his mother about the offer either. As he had said to Henry, it did feel like a speculation to put any hope in his getting the position at the mill, so why tell her before it came to fruition? No, he shook his head. He would explain it all to her, and she would understand it was only a chance, not to be depended on.

"John!" Fanny ran into his arms as he entered the door. Her blond curls were a tousled disarray, and dirt streaked the front of her dark blue dress.

"I've been helping Mother plant the garden," she giggled, and John looked to his mother in surprise.

"Have you now?" he said, half to his sister, half to Mrs. Thornton, who was straightening up from the hearth.

"Fanny has been attempting to assist me, yes. Though she only looks like that because she tripped over the basket of seed potatoes."

"And now I'm a fright! Why does gardening have to be such grimy work?" Fanny projected her lower lip and stepped back from her brother. Her eyes lowered from his face and noticed that he, as well, was quite filthy.

"What happened to you? You never come home dirty from the draper's shop."

"I didn't spend all day in the shop, that's why." John replied, easing himself into one of the chairs around their small table.

"Oh? Where were you then?" his mother asked.

"Mr. Arnolds sent Henry and I to Milton to fetch our order. The roads are a ruddy bog, and we had a bit of an incident on the way home, hence, my mud covered clothes. Interestingly enough, the episode was caused by a literal run-in with an old mate of mine from school."

"And who would that be?" His mother set a loaf of bread on the table, and then turned back to the hearth to get the stew pot.

"It was Curtis Talby. You may remember him, he came home with me over Christmas break the year before… the year before I left school."

"Well, that was nice for both of you, I'm sure. Fanny, come to the table now."

The trio of mother, son, and daughter clasped hands and bowed their heads as John asked a blessing for the meal.

"I have something else to tell you about, as well," John said, once his mother had filled all their bowls and sliced the bread.

His mother met his eyes, silently urging him to continue. John opened his mouth, then stopped a moment, spreading his piece of bread with a thick layer of butter. Maybe he should wait until Fanny was abed, but then he thought again. The walls were so thin, she would most likely hear them talking anyway.

"At the mill, the head foreman was complaining about one of the production foremen who hasn't been doing his job properly. He asked if I would be willing to take the place if the position opened up."

Mrs. Thornton's eyebrows raised. "And return to Milton?"

"If this said production foreman is fired, which I can't be sure he will from the sound of the mill owner, it would give us a chance to move back to Milton, and would mean much higher wages, besides the fact that with this position could come promotions and-" as John rushed on he realized his excitement was getting the better of him. He cleared his throat and set about eating his strew, waiting for his mother's response.

He gave a sidelong glance at Fanny, who seemed to be oblivious to the matter, and was frowning into her stew, trying to scoop out the bits of vegetables she disliked, which were most of them.

"Fanny, please stop picking at your supper and eat it." Her mother gently reprimanded.

"But you put onions in again, didn't you? I hate onions, and peas, and-"

"Fanny, what did I just say?"

The girl's shoulders slumped and she put a spoonful up to her mouth with a grimace. Mrs. Thornton then directed her attention back to her son.

"So it hinges on the man being removed from his employment at the mill? We shall have to wait patiently and see what happens then, shan't we?  
"Yes Mother," John nodded. Her tone was even and calm, but John could see her eyes shine with the same excitement he felt deep in his chest.

Changing the subject, John brought up Curtis again. "I should like to see ol' Talby again while he is staying in Milton."

"Perhaps Mr. Arnolds could spare you for a day this week?"

"I ought to ask," John said thoughtfully, taking a bite of his bread. "Who knows when the chance to see him will come again."

After supper, Fanny came and tugged on John's sleeve.

"Will you play with me?"

John gave her a nod and a smile. "What shall it be? Draughts?"

He had made a board and carved the pieces a few years ago during the cold winter evenings. It was something to do while Mother read aloud to Fanny.

"But you always win!" Fanny huffed.

"You are improving. Let's see how you do tonight, and the winner can choose the next game we play." John pulled the checkered board down from the shelf along with the box of playing pieces. He set it on the floor, and then sat cross-legged besides it. Fanny plopping herself opposite him.

"Light or dark?" he asked.

"I shall be the dark pieces this time, since you always seem to beat me with them."

"The pieces have no skill of their own, little goose." John gave his sister a half smile. "It's the player who controls them."

"I don't care, let me be dark."

"Fine. You shall be dark, and I will be light." John placed the pieces on the board, and they began, John giving Fanny the first move as well.

Fanny, eager to reach the other side and be "kinged" did not give heed to protecting her other pieces. Several times John had clear paths to capture two or three of her pieces at a time, but he restrained himself, wanting to give his sister the victory tonight. Whenever he did make a move to his advantage, Fanny would scowl and quickly try to counter it. The game progressed slowly, with John being careful not to appear too obvious that he was letting her win, although, Fanny was so absorbed in her own moves, her attention to exactly what John was doing was rather small.

Finally, the game was ended, a very happy Fanny giving a cheer as her king captured John's last piece.

"I win!" She shouted, jumping up and running to Mother. "Did you see how I beat John?"

"I did, my daughter. I think it is time to be off to bed now."

Fanny's face darkened like a storm cloud. "But John said I could choose the next game."

"You can, tomorrow. I should be off to bed as well, before I suffer another loss at your hand. I don't know if I could take that." John said, with feigned anguish. That brightened his sister's disposition, and she gave him and her mother a kiss on the cheek before retiring.


	7. Chapter 7

John stepped out of the carriage onto the dirty cobblestone street. Before him rose a long row of dingy white brick houses packed as tightly as fish in a barrel. They all had the same little row of stairs up the front leading to a dark door with the house number emblazoned across in brass numbers.

He checked the slip of paper in his hand one more time before pushing it back in his pocket and turning to pay the driver. John counted out the coins carefully, and paid no heed to the driver's disappointment at the lack of a tip. All things considered, this was already a rather frivolous trip, and he must be cautious how he spent his small amount of pocket money he allowed himself.

The Talby's were staying with an elderly aunt at house number 807, which John quickly spotted as he scanned the front doors. It was certainly not a fine neighborhood, but probably along the lines of what he would have to settle for in providing a place for Mother and Fanny if they returned to Milton. He had to check himself at that thought. It was of no use thinking of housing plans, when as of yet there was no reason to move.

A petite maid with a pinched face and wide brown eyes came to the door at John's knock.

"Good day to you. John Thornton to see Curtis Talby, if you please, miss."

"I will see if he's at home, sir," she replied, "Will you step in?"

It took a moment for John's eyes to adjust to the dark interior of the entryway. A dim oil lamp shed the only light leading off down the hall, and cast eerie shadows through the stair rails that led to the second level of the house. As the maid scurried off, John stole a glance in a gilded framed mirror, and scowled at the reflection. He had done his best to make himself presentable, but his shopkeeper's assistant attire seemed sadly worn and informal for visiting. His hair was in want of cutting as well, and-

Movement in his peripheral halted his dissatisfied observations, and he turned on his heels to see a phantom appear at the top of the stairs. Like an apparition from a fairytale, there stood a girl in a pale blue gown and hair flowing down her shoulders the color of starlight. She held a lamp in her hand, illuminating her ashen face, and with each step she seemed to float down the stairs.

When she reached the bottom, she stared at John without saying a word.

"Good day, miss," John said, rather brusquely, still recovering from his start.

"Good day," she replied softly. At that moment, footsteps came down the hall and in moment, Curtis was there, followed by the maid.

"John!" Curtis gave his hand a hard shake, grinning wide. "Finally a visitor to brighten our time here. Marie, this is John Thornton, whom I've been telling you about."

The ghost of a girl, now named Marie, gave a small curtsy and took her place beside her brother.

"You must come into the parlor and stay awhile, unless you have other business?" Curtis said.

"No, my errand in Milton was purely to see you."

"Capital! Jenny, could we trouble you for some tea and whatever you can scrounge up for a bit of lunch?" then turning back to John, "Aunt Helena ought to have something in that pantry of hers, and she's out for the day so it should be safe to check." There was a mischievous glint in Curtis' eyes that John had long missed seeing. It was good to be in the company of old friends.

Once settled in the parlor, John soon had a cup of hot tea in his hands and was deep in conversation with Curtis. He occasionally stole a glance at Marie, who sat in a brocade side chair working on a piece of embroidery. Her light hair hid her face, but John could tell she was listening intently.

"Marie has recently finished school in London. They say she's a proper lady now, but I liked her quite well before." Curtis turned to see what response his teasing would elicit from his sister, but Marie remained silent.

"Did you enjoy the school?" John asked. The flaxen head jerked up, and her startled eyes reminded John of a rabbit.

"My pardon," John retreated, but Curtis held up a hand.

"Come Marie, you ought to know it is polite to respond to a question."

Marie's wide eyes turned to her brother, and then back to John.

"My time at the school was beneficial," she said softly, "I owe much to my instructors there."

"I don't know how beneficial it was," Curtis said under his breath, "I suppose it's necessary for girls these days to be properly schooled, but I must say I would trade my little sister for in for this-this parlor decoration any day."

"Is that not rather harsh?" John whispered back.

"I suppose it is. She was never the outgoing sort to begin with, but school has seemed to scare away any bit of life in the girl. In spite of that," Curtis brought the volume of his voice up, "She has procured a suitor after her coming out party in London. If the school hasn't done much for her, it at least gave her some wealthy friends willing to help her along in society. Though I have to say, I am still puzzled as to exactly how she met the man, as she was hiding in the corner most of the evening."

A flash of blue fire lit Marie's eyes. "How insulting, Curt!"

Curtis beamed at her. "Was I really?"  
She tried to hide the smile that was making it's way across her face. "Mr. Hemmings and I had a very nice conversation on the terrace-"

"After he pulled you from behind the curtain."

"I was not-" Marie stopped short with a look of disbelief. It was as if the defensive reply quite surprised her, and she did not know she was capable of such a sharp tone.

Curtis only laughed. "Do not be angry with me, dear sister, it's only that I've missed having a bit of fun with you."

Letting out a heavy breath, Marie turned to her brother and let her smile shine free.

John's thoughts lighted on his own sister for a moment. Would it benefit her to attend a school of that sort? Certainly her spirits could not be as easily quenched as Marie's and some discipline might even do her some good. During their time away from Milton, Fanny attended the small village school, and while reading, arithmetic, and history were all important subjects, should she not also be trained to be a proper lady? As she would have, had Mr. Thornton's death not been so premature in their lives. If he did get the position at the mill, and with his father's debt now paid, he could start putting aside money for Fanny, and- No! He caught himself. These were worthwhile ideas, but not to be dwelled upon yet. However, while he had the opportunity, maybe he should ask Curtis some more questions about the school his sister had gone too.

"Curtis, how much did it cost for Marie to attend this school?"

Curtis thought a moment before replying, "You know, I am not certain. Both of our educations were paid for from a trust fund set up in our parents in their will, and our family solicitor has managed that. I could write to him and inquire, if you would like."

"No hurry, but if it wouldn't be too much trouble…"

"Not at all!"

An hour more passed in the dreary little parlor, brightened with laughter and good-humored conversation. Marie, having warmed up to her brother's visitor, now joined in as well.

"Do you remember the time-" Curtis started to complete his sentence, but began laughing too hard to get another word out.

"Which of us are you addressing?" Marie asked.

Curtis could only shake his head and point to John.

"Oh dear, this could be interesting," John said, leaning back with a smile. "Are you recalling the time when you and I put salt in the-"

"No, no," Curtis gasped. "The time Mrs. Archer misplaced me."

"What on earth do you mean by that?" Marie was clearly confused, and furrowed her brows at her brother, who burst into another laughing fit.

"I'll tell it," replied John. "Curtis had been ill for a few days, and so Mrs. Archer, the housekeeper at the school, wanted to move him out of our shared room into the spare one, so I wouldn't catch whatever he had. Well, after she had him all tucked in abed, something called her attention elsewhere. When she finished that, she decided to bring a tea tray up for Curtis, but brought it to our room, where I had returned from class and was studying. I had no knowledge of her decision to place him in the spare room, so I had no answer when she asked me where he had gone."

"She forgot where Curtis was?" Marie said, wide eyed.

"Plumb forgot!" Curtis slapped his leg and continued laughing.

John cleared his throat and had to speak up to be heard over his giggling friend.

"Her first thought was that he and I were playing a prank on her. I tried to assure her that was not the case, but unfortunately, we did have a bit of a reputation for mischief. She became so frustrated that I didn't know where Curtis was, that she retrieved one of the teachers to get me to tell the truth. We were all in the hallway arguing- me trying to convince them I had absolutely no idea where he was, and they thinking I must know. It happened that the spare room was right across from ours, so as our racket grew louder, it woke Curtis and he came stumbling out, grumbling 'What's all the fuss about?'"

"Mrs. Archer looked as though she might faint!" Curtis added, falling back on the couch in laughter again.

Marie looked to John. "Did they apologize for accusing you like that?"

"Oh yes, Mrs. Archer was thoroughly embarrassed, and was quite sorry about it all."

As the three of them laughed over the memory, the door to the parlor opened and it was not Jenny the maid who entered, but Aunt Helena. A hush fell over the room.

Curtis was the first to break the silence as he got to his feet.

"Why, Aunt Helena, we didn't know you would return so soon."

"Is it a habit of your to entertain guests while I am absent?" she said, glaring down her nose at him, although even Marie must have been taller then her.

"Aunt Helena, this is my friend, Mr. John Thornton."

John rose and gave a slight bow. The elderly woman eyed him haughtily as she passed in front of him to take the chair beside Marie.

"And what, pray tell, is your occupation, Mr. Thornton, that you can go about visiting midday like a gentleman?"

John was unsure whether she was condemning the idea he might be from a wealthy family, which was probably not the case, due to her clear view of his dingy attire. Though, it was odd for a tradesman to out and about on personal business at this time of day.

"I currently work as a shopkeepers assistant, but was allowed leave to visit Curtis today." John said, returning to his seat.

"Hmm," was all Aunt Helena replied.

John could see Marie and Curtis were uncomfortable in the presence of their aunt, and he was feeling that it might be best to make his exit now. As he stood again, Curtis leaped up.

"Leaving so soon?"

"I really ought to be going. It was wonderful to see you Curtis, and to meet your sister." John paused, then realized he had forgot someone. "It was a pleasure meeting you as well," he said to their aunt.

"Likewise," she answered with no emotion.

"I'll walk you to the door," Curtis said hurriedly.

Once they were in the foyer and John had retrieved his coat, Curtis put a hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you so much for coming here. You don't know how much this meant to me, and Marie as well. I do not think I have ever seen her laugh that much."

"I don't believe I have ever seen you laugh that much either," John smiled.

"We will keep in correspondence? I don't know when we will be back in Milton, not for a long while if I can help it, but if you are ever in London, you must look us up."

"I certainly will. So long, old friend."

"Good bye, John."


	8. Chapter 8

"Good morning, Mr. Thornton," Miss Tystad said, leaning forward on the counter and batting her eyelashes vigorously.

"Is there something I can help you with?" John kept his face straight, trying his hardest to conceal his annoyance.

"Oh, why, yes there is. I was wondering if you could show me some printed chintz. I am quite in need of a new summer gown."

John reluctantly came out from behind the barrier, and crossed the store to the shelves of lighter textiles.

"Here's what we have in stock. While you make your selection, I have some things to attend to in the back."

"No! You can't leave! How ever am I to decide on what color to choose?" her gloved hand fluttered to his arm, alighting momentarily, and then pulled back. "Mother says I look too pale in rose, but I detest green, and blue seems so ordinary."

John let out a quick breath through his nose. What did he know of matching a lady's complexion to the color of her dress? After turning down those options, there was only one color in front of them Miss Tystad had not mentioned. He pulled out the bolt of white chintz covered in a spray of small yellow daisies.

"How about this?"

"Why, that is absolute perfection! What an eye you have for fashion." Again, her eyes began rapidly blinking, and John turned to bring the bolt to the counter. He saw Henry peeking out from behind the curtain of the back room, holding a hand to his mouth to stifle laughter. "Be thankful you're not her target," he mouthed, and Henry only gave him a smile in reply.

"How many yards would you like?" he asked, rolling out the gauzy material over the top of the counter.

"Oh dear, how many? Well, the skirt must be full enough for at least three petticoats…" as she babbled on, John's attention was drawn to another customer entering the shop. As the man removed his top hat, he recognized him as Mr. Armstrong from Hawkins' Mill.

"I'll cut six yards for you, that should be plenty, and if it's not, you know where to find me." John's curt words cut into Miss Tystad's monologue, and she stared up at him with indignation. At least she was quiet for the moment. He had never been so rude to a shop patron before, but he cared not if Miss Tystad held it against him.

He wrapped up the material as quickly as he could, and left the young lady standing at the counter to greet Mr. Armstrong.

"John, good to see you," The tall man gave John's hand a hardy pump. "I have news for you, do you have a moment to speak with me?"

"Yes, certainly!"

"Is dress material free with unsatisfactory service?" Miss Tystad called.

"My apologies, no, that will be 20 shillings." John rushed back to the counter, and endured her icy stare as she counted out the coins.

"Good day to you," he said as she turned to leave.

"I should hope so."

Mr. Armstrong sauntered to the counter and leaned an arm on it. "I hope I was not the cause of you having to rush through her transaction."

"No," John rubbed a hand over his forehead, "She is a frequent custom and it was entirely my fault that I lost my patience with her."

"I take it you would appreciate leaving sales and service work?"

John gave a nod, eager to hear what Mr. Armstrong would tell him.

"You'll be happy to know Burns is gone, Mr. Hawkins finally had enough of him. He's unsure about hiring someone as young as you for an overseer's position, but he is willing to give you a trial run, working with me, and then he will make his final decision."

A cheer came from behind the curtain.

"Come out here, Henry," John growled, but his friend's smile when he emerged was too much for John to be angry with.

"What do you say that?" Mr. Armstrong said.

"I would be most appreciative for the chance. When do I begin?"

"As soon as you can. Does your employer here know of this?"

"I do now," Mr. Arnolds said, coming from the back room. John tried to hide his surprise, he thought the draper was to be gone for the entire day.

"Stealing my best worker from me, eh Luke? Didn't think you'd ever deliver such a low blow to a chap." Mr. Arnolds' brindled brows sank over his eyes.

"Come now, I'm sure you can see better then I John was meant for better things then running a little village shop for the rest of his life."

"So that's what you think of me, eh?" There was a moment's pause, and then the draper gave John a slap on the back. "I think it sounds like a grand opportunity."

John breathed a sigh of relief, and ventured a slight smile.

"That mean's you'll have to step it up, Henry," Mr. Arnolds turned to his other employee, "If John's a leavin' us, that means you're the future of this shop."

"Yes sir!" Henry bobbed his head.

"I shall let Mr. Hawkins know then," Mr. Armstrong said with a nod, "I suppose you'll be needing a place to stay in Milton for the meanwhile. It would be a long trek back and forth each day."

"Yes, that's true," John said. Supposing things didn't work out, there would be no use unsettling Mother and Fanny yet, but if he was to get to work on time, it would be best to find somewhere closer to the mill.

"I'd offer you a room in my own home, but with the Mrs. and I, and 8 children, we've not got much to spare."

"Thank you, but I sure I can find a place."

"What a day for you!" Henry said after business had returned to usual, at least for today. John promised Mr. Arnolds he would finish off the week, and then would move on to his new job.

"Indeed," John nodded, looking over the accounts. "I wasn't sure if Mr. Armstrong was quite serious about the offer, but I was proven wrong."

"You might be rid of this job, and Miss Tystad both. You'll have to come back for a visit or two."

"If you can promise she won't be around the shop."

Henry laughed, "I think it was the first time in her life she saw you could be something other then the perfect man. You actually offended her!"

"Well, if that's all it takes to be rid of her, I should have done it along time ago."

John could hardly wait to get home and tell his mother. She would be so pleased for him, and for what this could mean.

He strode up the street to their little cottage, with it's sagging thatch and dingy whitewash. Window boxes filled with red geraniums gave the little place a touch of life, and the smell wafting through the open windows was a warm welcome.

"Mother!" John burst through the door and tossed down his cap on the table.

"Gracious heavens, boy, is there something wrong?" Mrs. Thornton was just setting down a steaming meat pie.

"No, it is something right, something wonderful."

"Mummy, can we finally eat now?" Fanny drooping expression matched her slumped shoulders.

"Quiet, Fanny, let John finish."

"Mr. Armstrong came by the shop today, and says I have a chance at the mill job. It's not final yet, Mr. Hawkins wants to see how I do first, but it's a chance! A chance of a lifetime!"

Mrs. Thornton's smile was tinged with sadness. "Years ago, I would have never thought to see my son so happy about tradesmen work, nor that I would be so glad of it either. This is very good news. Come, sit and eat before you tell me of the details."

Fanny seemed confused as what was going on, but was delighted that she could now eat. She scrambled into a chair beside her brother.

His mother asked him to bless the food, and a few bites into the savory pie, John found himself talking again.

"I'll need somewhere to stay in Milton, until Mr. Hawkins decides of he wants to keep me on. Do you have any ideas?"

"Well, we can't spare much for rent, and I can't say if we have any friends left in the city. None such as would agree to boarding you for bit."

"I had a thought…but I would hate to impose. Maybe Curtis could help convince her…"

"Say what you mean, John, don't dance around the matter."

John smiled. "I was thinking that maybe Curtis's aunt would allow me to say for bit. Maybe instead of rent, I could do some work for her, since she's getting on in years. I don't think she cared much for me, but if it could be profitable to both us…"

"I'm sure it would be worth looking into," his mother nodded.

The last few days at the draper's shop seemed to drag on forever. As much as John appreciated where this job had brought him, he was ready to move on. With the higher pay of his new position, he could finish paying his father's debts, and start looking more towards the future. Of course there would be the expense of a house in Milton, something modest, yet better then the mud floored cottage they had now. He tried to tell himself not to plan too heavily on this job yet, Mr. Hawkins could still say no after this trial. But he was so close. Closer then he had ever been to rebuilding what his father had thrown away.

The day before he was to start work in Milton, he received a response from Miss Helena Talby.

Dear John Thornton,

I have deliberated long and hard over your proposition. I see that you are in need, and depend on this work opportunity to help your family, but it is not a habit of mine to provide lodgings for tradesmen. If you were to come, I would expect the highest propriety to be shown by you, in respects to myself, and those in my employ. You would be expected to keep your quarters tidy, and make time to complete the tasks I ask of you. If those criterions are broken, I will execute my right to expel you from my home. If you can agree to these things, I would consider it an opportunity to show charity to those less fortunate, and would welcome you into my home.

With regards,

Miss Helena Talby


End file.
